Exposed
by Cornelia D. Scully
Summary: The unlikely pair team up to document Pureblood Supremacist movements after the war - facing danger, secrets, and intrigue. And yet what they find themselves least prepared for is their mutual attraction.
1. Audacity

_Please read and review. If I owned any of these characters or ideas, I would be out spending my piles of gold and subsequently too busy to write what follows here:_

Raking his blonde hair distractedly, Draco Malfoy didn't bother looking up when he heard his office door open. "Morning Blaize," he grunted, eyes still on the paper in front of him. "Closer to afternoon, but I suppose for you, this is a bit early" responded a cool, female voice. His head jerked up with a start, eyes immediately narrowing as he registered the exotic and currently cross features of Parvati Patil. "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you," he began before Parvati cut across "Clearly. Look – I'm obviously not here paying you a social call so I figure I'll get straight to the point. I'm also applying… Right. Well. Have a good day." Without so much as closing his door, she breezed out of his office leaving his head reeling as he listened to her high-heels click down the hall.

Shaking his head as if to clear it, Draco marched to the fireplace and hurled a fist of Floo Powder into the fire. Impatiently tapping his foot as he waited for the flames to turn green signaling that he could place his call, he wondered whether it was too early for a stiff drink. "Stepping out already, mate?" Draco whirled around as, for the second time that morning, someone entered his office without him noticing. "Where have you been?" Draco huffed, "I was just getting ready to Floo you." Zabini gave Malfoy a significant look, closing the door as he maneuvered himself into his usual seat across from Malfoy's desk. "Actually, I was doing a bit of recon for you. I heard a rumor at work that a certain Parvati Patil-"

"is also applying to be Editor? Yeah. She just strutted in here and told me herself. Bit of a nasty shock. I was expecting you." Blaise let out a low whistle murmuring something that sounded distinctly like "Bloody Gryffindors."

It hadn't been easy readjusting to life after the War. All the wealth and prestige that had come to define Slytherin House suddenly meant nothing. If anything, it made it even more difficult to secure gainful employment as Slytherins now faced widespread discrimination. Draco had been one of the few lucky ones. The Parkinson family had been patrons of Witch Weekly for generations. Both he and Pansy received entry-level jobs upon taking their leave of Hogwarts. However, even four years later, there were those, like Parvati, who still treated Draco with deep mistrust.

Heaving a sigh, Draco vented exasperatedly, "On the one hand, I get it. I truly do. I treated the lot of them awfully and I was a right little git. And yet, it's been four years since my mother made headlines aiding in the rescue of Potter and another two since my article."

Zabini rolled his eyes. "What?" Draco demanded. "It was heralded in the Prophet as a 'daring expose.' I received an award from the Muggle-born Rights Council. It won 7 Wizarding Journalism awards." "Draco, you went undercover as a student at a Muggle boarding school for four months. Big deal. If I remember correctly, you spent a good deal of that time partying, shagging Muggle girls, and making shit grades."

Malfoy fired back, "Four months, mate. Four months. No magic. And you'd make shit grades too if they made you study some Shakespeare bloke and learn real math. You know what? No. We're not arguing about this again. We have more important things to discuss."

"Patil, you mean?" Blaise asked.

"Exactly. How is it that you manage the Witch Weekly Owlery and are just now discovering this?"

After his article's big debut, Draco received tenure as a staff writer and the influence that accompanies writing the most widely-read article in Witch Weekly history. Taking everyone by surprise, he requested nothing, not even a larger office, save an entry-level job for his friend Zabini. The owlery was an obvious pick for his friend. The heart of Witch Weekly, all memos and gossip passed through Zabini's capable hands. This allowed Blaise to pass valuable information on to Malfoy in his quest to become the first male Editor of Witch Weekly upon Rita Skeeter's retirement. He had carefully calculated his rise for the past two years, systematically eliminating opponents over time.

"This Patil factor is a curve ball. I _need_ to be the only applicant. Skeeter will look for any excuse not to choose me. 'Never hire a man to do a Witch's job I always say.' What bollocks."

Zabini nodded his head, scratching under his nose as he thought. "There's nothing for it Drake. You're just going to have to compete for this one fair and square."

"What am I, a Hufflepuff now?" Draco spluttered at his friend's proposal.

Blaise continued, "The interview is tomorrow. As you constantly remind us, you've more than earned it. You're the best staff writer on paper."

Draco considered this turn of events. "All right. Fine. But if I don't get it, I'm outta here. I refuse to write another bloody 'Male Perspective on Love Potions' or 'Why Your Man Should De-Gnome Your Garden' piece. It's humiliating. The great Draco Malfoy reduced to this."


	2. Serendipity

_Please read and review. If I owned any of these characters or ideas, I would be out spending my piles of gold and subsequently too busy to write what follows here:_

Despite all his bravado, Draco awoke early the next morning feeling anxious. He tossed and turned for several minutes before sighing. Realizing sleep was no longer an option, he sat up in bed slinging aside his green coverlet and began readying himself for the day.

Draco's foot was already in the emerald green flames when he remembered to shoot a quick patronus messenger to both his mother and Pansy. He spoke aloud to the arctic fox "Big day at work. Interviewing for the job. I'll send word before 5:00."

He reflected on his message as the Floo Network carted him off to the Leaky Cauldron. It was a testimony to the past four years that he could conjure a patronus at all. Although by no means as smart as Granger, yes even he could admit that now, he was certainly no slouch and finished second in their class. And yet, even well into his sixth year, he found himself unable to tackle the patronus charm. Any outsider observing his life might point to why: the war, his father's death, breaking up with his Hogwarts sweetheart. Draco Malfoy was incapable of finding a happy enough memory.

Until very recently. Yes, a messenger patronus certainly wasn't the full-blown thing but it was… something. He wouldn't exactly call himself happy, but… content? Maybe. The long hours of on-the-job research, finally acknowledging that Pansy had a point in leaving him, free of his father's influence, Draco found himself free to explore his own feelings for the first time.

His feet landed with a harsh thud against the cobbled stones of the Leaky Cauldron commuter entrance and moments later something, no someone, very solid slammed into him. Draco made a mental note "All right Malfoy. Floo Network probably not the best place for reflection." God he'd been writing at Witch Weekly too long. Feelings. Reflection-

"-oy. Move it you."

Draco whirled around, trying to place the voice, but the shock of red hair registered before anything else. "Ah. Weasley."

Ron Weasley looked up surprised. The Leaky Cauldron commuter entrance flooed hundreds of witches and wizards daily. It served as the primary form of transportation for any one working on Diagon Alley. It was rare to bump into any one you knew. Upon recognizing the speaker however, the pleasant look of surprise faded off Ron's face. He answered warily, "Morning Malfoy."

They both turned to walk out of the pub. With a sinking feeling, Draco realized they would be walking upwards of six blocks together. The headquarters for Witch Weekly, housed in a fashionable district a block away from Gringotts, were a sweet shop away from Ron's office in the Chudley Cannons headquarters. He thought briefly of trying to speed up to avoid the pained and inevitable small talk but before he could put that plan into effect, Ron opened his mouth.

"So what's it like? Working there?"

"Witch Weekly you mean?"

"That _is_ where you work, isn't it?"

Draco thought about it. "Well I suppose it's okay. I suppose the best part is the witch to wizard ratio, if you know what I mean."

Ron scowled, "Nah. I work in an office full of wizards. Not a witch in sight."

They walked for another block before Draco could no longer stand the silence. "Erm. So what is it you do? Exactly? For the Cannons?"

Ron looked relieved that Draco had thought of something to say. "Mostly I work with different Quidditch suppliers to keep the team well-stocked and occasionally develop new products to improve…er… more tailored to our players."

Draco suppressed a smirk. The Cannons were consistently the worst team in the league. He felt sure old Weasley was about to say "improve our players' game" which certainly was a noble goal. However, Draco found his amusement short-lived as he glanced over to see Ron looking particularly haggard. Draco suddenly felt as though it might be beneath him to compare himself to this washed-up man.

After the war, all the papers covered the "Golden Trio's" movements incessantly for at least a year. Harry lived comfortably as "outside consultant to the Ministry" which Draco reckoned must offer some degree of privacy as his movements were no longer constantly monitored by the press. Hermione secured the first-ever post of Historian Laureate for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and appeared to be frequently out of the country doing "research." Which left Ron to absorb most of the media scrutiny, alone except for a bottle of Ogden's fire-whiskey. This isolation became official when, shortly after Draco's large expose broke, the tabloids and even Witch Weekly devoted entirely too much time covering the split of famous Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.

At the time, Draco only found himself slightly annoyed to be so eclipsed by something so trivial. Now looking at the man trudging along beside him, he considered for the first time how it must have affected Ron. Again, Draco felt the silence weigh in on him and searched for something to say. What had they been talking about? Broomsticks? He couldn't remember. He just wanted to say something trivial to get them through the next block. Instead, he blurted, "Look, Granger didn't have to do that. If my editor hadn't made me, I never would have let her. I know I didn't deserve…"

Draco trailed off in embarrassment. Now, he'd done it. It was over two years ago. Why couldn't he just let it go? He slowed as Ron faced him, a frustrated expression on his face, before launching into a heated diatribe. "Too right you didn't. You and I both know how sympathetic 'Mione is to the Muggle-born cause. I reckon she believes you. That you went undercover. Lived as one of them for four months. Learned your lesson. It was certainly bloody convincing. But I know better. At the end of the day, Draco Malfoy cares about one thing: Draco Malfoy."

Draco protested, "I did live without magic. I did go to a Mug-" before Ron cut him off with "So what? So what if you did. So what if you wrote a fancy expose. The only reason any one read it is because Hermione wrote a public recommendation for it in one of her columns. Mark my words: you better not talk to her now that she's back."

Draco watched as Ron stalked off, leaving him anchored to the spot. Looking over his shoulder to see if anyone witnessed the heated exchange and gratifying himself no one had, Malfoy wandered on. These same thoughts had plagued him. That he somehow owed his journalistic success to bloody bleeding-heart Granger. Brushing these thoughts away, he instead focused on Weasley's behavior. Hadn't the Weasel been the one to initiate the small-talk? Draco had been perfectly content to surge on ahead but Ron had started a conversation. Although by no means successful, it certainly started off civil enough. Had Weasley been looking to attack him the entire time? Just waiting for the right moment? Or had his words really offended him that deeply? Perhaps Weasley just thought he was being insincere about Hermione.

Hermione. Back.

Draco's stomach did a somersault.

How was that possible? Even today, news of Granger is gold. Witch Weekly had plenty of resources expended to be the first to know if the Golden Girl returned to England. So how is it that she made it back without any one finding out?

Well. Weasley's little outburst was certainly embarrassing, but far more valuable than even he could have anticipated.

Trademark smirk in place, Draco Malfoy opened the doors of Witch Weekly, somehow much more confident that the job would be his than when he woke this morning.


End file.
